Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Get Ya Hands Up, artist - E.S.G.. Date of issue: 15.04.2002
Song language: English
Get Ya Hands Up |
| Boss Hogg Outlaws, street millionaires |
| You know we getting this street money, shit |
| Whether it’s weed, ki’s or c.d.s |
| Trying to get it with the M-O's |
| Now Slim hit em where it hurt (ha) |
| The trunk open boppers scoping, but don’t watch me |
| I’m shotgun with Sleepy, watching eight TV’s |
| Right behind that Chi-Town, and we headed to Cali |
| Popping candy blue do’s, on a thoed Denali |
| Riding like we in a rally, candy coats crawl spokes |
| Live like rich white folks, and float million dolla boats |
| I spend six hundred c-notes, to decorate my throat |
| And got a mansion house snow, with the dope to smoke |
| Whole lifetime from being broke, my grand kids gon ball |
| I bought a car by the bar, and still knock down the mall |
| A young Hogg is what I’m called, when I step in the place |
| Cause when I step up in the place, my diamonds up in your face |
| Staying on a paper chase, so I’m shaking the leaves |
| I proceed to block bleed, cause getting green is what I need |
| The Re-Rolex Times, and sip the moet wine |
| Boss Hogg boys blind, when it’s time to shine ha |
| We read Rolex Times, and sip the moet wine |
| Not a Cash Money brother, but I know how to shine |
| Start up my rhymes, and now my diamonds glare |
| I’m a self made, full paid street millionaire |
| I ain’t never been a roach, on a leash or side kick |
| Like these other bitch niggas that’s broke, and ride dick |
| How the fuck you boys only sell dope, to buy kicks |
| No wonder how I glow, and hop out the fly six |
| I’m a street millionaire, cause I mash the gas |
| And watch you other boys flash, how I stash my cash |
| I’m known for wrecking boys face, mash they ass in half |
| When I pull up in the drop top, Jag on glass |
| I’m on my note, princess cuts on my throat |
| Plus you can tell by the soft mink, on my coat |
| And watch you boys on the block, I’m on the boat |
| Getting head from a red, that give the longest strokes |
| I keeps it real, I’m all about eating meals |
| I don’t hang with nan nigga, that ain’t seeking mills |
| Till he’s on the pay roll, and they keep a steal |
| I make a call, boys getting hit with heat then chill, for real |
| Now we balling in the Bentley, big bodies and Benzes |
| The way my twenties spin, they go clean to the dentist |
| 'Fore my son turn one, I hang with 2001's |
| Eddie Bauer car seats, so me and him can have fun |
| Talking stocks and bonds, public seeing my dones |
| Super charged Impala, pop my collar like the Fonz' |
| Ten karats on my teeth, then the karats on my charm |
| Add the karats on my arm, that’s more than a rabbit farm |
| I got Phat Farm, but I don’t need a outfit |
| Talking bout the Texas rent, cost two point six |
| Street rich four point six, Range Rover for winter |
| In the summer catch me gunning, platinum leather on the list |
| Chrome on Bentley and the Benz, sick my light on the mirror |
| For the wife birthday, two thousand at the galleria |
| If my diamonds were more clear, I’d line the palaya |
| Now it’s time to thank us, for buying Texas a stadium |